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Gude-day wi' ye i' the noo than! Imphm! Gude-day. See an' gie's a cry in on Munanday, noo-na. Ta-ta! Sin' Friday nicht I've been gaen aboot wi' my hert an' moo fu' o' musik! Eh, hoo I did enjoy yon Gleeka Koir's singin'. I hinna heard onything like it for mony a day. D'ye ken, fine musik juist affeks me like a gude preechin' an' waur whiles. I canna help frae thinkin' aboot it.
An' he stands wi' his thooms i' the oxter holes o' his weyscot, an' lauchs, an' says, "Tyuch; naething ava; no wirth speakin' aboot," when I tell them hoo big I am aboot it. She's genna be broken on Munanday Nooeer's-day. If you're pasain' oor wey, look in an' get a crummie. I'll be richt gled to see you, I'm shure. A happy noo 'ear to you, when it comes an' mony may ye see! Ah-hy!
"Ay, you cam' in withoot chappin' on Setarday nicht, Sandy," I says, says I, at brakfast time on Munanday mornin', 'cause I saw fine he wantit to speak aboot it. "I'll do the chappin' when I get a grab o' Pottie Lawson," says Sandy.
When I opened the box here's ane o' my stockin's lyin' on the tap o' a great big cake, juist like this: To B. BOWDEN from a F IEND I lookit anower at Sandy, an' here's him lyin' wi' a look on his face like's he was wantin' on the Parochial Buird. "Eh, Sandy! What a man you are!" I says, says I; for, mind you, I was a richt prood woman on Munanday mornin'.